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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145673">Kept in the Dark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemosDeErica/pseuds/RemosDeErica'>RemosDeErica</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alfred Pennyworth is Dead, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Damian Wayne Needs a Hug, Damian Wayne-centric, F/M, Family Bonding, Forgive Me, Grief/Mourning, Horror, I Spit in the Face of Canon, Not For Sexy Times, Rated For Violence, Selina Kyle Gets a Crash Course in Being an Awkward Parent, Supernatural Elements, Timeline What Timeline</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:20:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,746</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemosDeErica/pseuds/RemosDeErica</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The death of Alfred Pennyworth has a devastating impact.</p><p>With the Family broken and grieving, Bruce must swallow his pride and face his past mistakes if he is to have any hope of bringing those he loves back together again. </p><p>Unfortunately, while so keenly focused on bringing his older children home, his youngest is falling through the cracks.</p><p>A family secret, a dark and deadly past, and an uncertain future await Damian Wayne. But the question is: will he go looking for them? Or will THEY find HIM?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bruce Wayne &amp; Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne &amp; His Kids, Selina Kyle &amp; Damian Wayne, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>137</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Hallway</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Non-Graphic depictions of vomiting, and some grossly overt exposition. </p><p>You have been warned.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Damian had always had strange dreams. When he was five, he’d had a recurring dream where he saw a baby bird fall out of a nest and crash to the ground. It's tiny body had broken on impact with it’s little limbs twisted in odd angles, blood slowly creating a puddle around it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One morning, he told his mother of the fallen bird from his dream and how it troubled him. His mother had then taken him outside to the private gardens and towards one of the many fruit trees that grew there. Many birds tended to perch amongst the branches of the trees and Damian would often sit not too far off and use them as inspiration for his artwork. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian had felt a sense of warmth. Thinking this would be one of the rare times he saw a softer side to his mother. But very quickly realized how wrong he was when his mother snatched one of the birds out of the trees and without hesitation, snapped its neck. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian would never forget the look in her eyes when she turned to him. Light hazel that looked as dull and dead as the bird in her hands. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Death is inevitable, my son. Do not waste time fearing it,” she had said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Needless to say, Damian never mentioned one of his dreams to her again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And when only a few weeks later he watched as a baby bird fell to its death from its nest, he made sure no one was there to witness his tears while he gathered the little baby in his hands and buried it next to the bird his mother had killed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dreams like this were few and far between for Damian. And not always so clear. But when one of these recurring dreams would present itself he would keep a keen eye out and either something would come of it or wouldn’t. End of story.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But there was one dream that he had been having on and off for the past four years. Ever since the day his father brought him to live at Wayne Manor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There's a long winding hallway that stretches out in front of him. Sturdy mahogany doors are firmly shut along its sides. A few decorative portraits are displayed to contrast the deep burgundy walls and ornate, antique light fixtures hung from a ceiling that was far too high.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Any normal person who had dreams about hallways would probably wake up, think: ‘what the fuck?’, and move on with their life. Maybe pick up a book about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dreams and their Mysterious Meanings. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Recurring dreams not withsdanding. It was a fucking hallway, not a monster.</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And that was essentially how Damian had handled almost every other dream throughout his life. Minus the asinine drivel some idiots consider literature. But then, none of his dreams had left him so violently shaken and gasping for breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian was terrified of that hallway. The walls reminding him of blood. The faces of all the portraits were strange and distorted, like someone had taken something sharp and tried to scratch them away. And at the very end, beyond where the faint light could reach was just <em>darkness</em></span>
  <span>. Just empty, black nothing glaring back at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Every time he had this dream he just stared into that darkness, petrified. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But that night was different. He didn’t know why, but something had changed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the past few months since Alfred’s passing, Selina Kyle had been staying with Damian and his father at the Manor. Damian would never admit it, but he was grateful for her presence. He liked her. And she kept his father grounded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Alfred had been with their family since before father had even been born. His father had never handled the deaths in the Family well, but Alfred was something else. He had been the glue keeping them all together. The one person they all knew they could rely on to love them unconditionally and without judgment. And without him, the Family was in shambles. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the funeral his siblings had scattered, Thomas and Brown as well, all of them trying to process their grief in their own ways. His father was a shattered, broken version of himself hiding away in his study with far too much bourbon for Damian’s liking. And Damian himself was left alone and fearing that it was only a matter of time before he would have to bury his father alongside the man he had come to love like a grandparent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then two months ago, about a week after the funeral, Kyle had shown up with a large black suitcase and two cats telling them she was moving in.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly but surely, his family was making small steps towards recovery. Father, although still grieving, had at least been trying to engage with the world around him. Going to galas. Taking Kyle out on a date or two. He’d even lightened up on breaking femurs while on patrol. His siblings too, seems to all be creeping their way out of the woodwork again. Richard had dropped by to help intercept a weapons deal a few days prior. The Red Hood had picked up activity again out in Crime Alley after dropping off the map for several weeks. Cain had finally come out of deep cover but seemed to be staying in Hong Kong for the time being. And Damian was fairly certain that father was trying to convince Drake to move back into the Manor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian felt like he was the only one still stuck. The grief that had carved a hole through his insides felt like a bottomless pit trying to swallow him whole. He went through his days almost in a haze. Wake up. Shower. Walk Titus. Go to School. Come home. Go on patrol. Go to bed. And maybe every once in while he’d remember to eat something. But without Alfred to check in on him with tea and snacks, Damian felt very little motivation to bother with food.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night had been no different from any other. Damian had striped off his gear, had a quick shower, bade his father and Kyle goodnight and gone to bed. The same routine just as every day before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But when he closed his eyes, he knew something had changed. Something was wrong. Something was watching him. From the darkness. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it. Something was staring back at him from the dark and cold nothing at the end of the hallway. Something </span>
  <em>
    <span>hungry</span>
  </em>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian shot up in bed, his heart pounding, his breath ragged and uneven. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With wild eyes he frantically searched around his room for any sign the hungry darkness was still watching him. But he saw only the faint glow of pre-dawn bathing his hardwood floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A vicious sense of nausea suddenly overtook him. Desperately he wrestled with the sheets twisted around his body, trying to escape their constricting hold on him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once free he scrambled towards the bathroom. His knees hit the tiled floor and his head was in the porcelain toilet bowl in seconds. What meger remains of his dinner coming back up to greet him. When his stomach had no more to give his body was wracked with dry heaving.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hands shook violently as he finally pushed himself away from the toilet bowl. Wiping a hand across his mouth, he leaned up against the bathtub and inhaled slow and shaky. His stomach  seemed to be settled for the moment, but he doubted he would be able to stomach much food for the rest of the day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His head was pounding and his body was covered in a cold sweat. He had never reacted this badly to a dream before. Never. Even his worst nightmares that played back the most horrific moments of his life had never led him to becoming so sick and shaken. Even his dreams of Alfred...</span>
</p><p> </p><p>He needed to stop thinking of it. His heart was picking up speed again. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was awake. He was awake and he was fine. No one was watching him. There were no hallway to darkness. He needed to get over himself. His fear was foolish and unwarranted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was fine... </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then why did he feel so scared?</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. A Black Cat's Musings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Selina is in way over her head.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>He looks so tired…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was sitting up in bed. Their bed, now. Her legs pulled up, her arms resting atop them and supporting her head. She sat there and she just stared. Stared at the man that made her heart race and her palms sweat. At the man who chased her across rooftops and laughed at the crude comments she made about Gotham’s Elite during parties. The man she was terrified to love, but even more terrified to lose. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked so tired. He looked </span>
  <em>
    <span>old. </span>
  </em>
  <span>S</span>
  <span>o lost. He was sad and grieving and she had no idea what to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He always tried to look so strong. Colossal. Unwavering. Even to her. And she would fall for it. Because she wanted to. Because she was scared of the softer, more vulnerable side of him that she didn’t know how to navigate. Because she could handle being with the Batman but she had no idea how to be with Bruce Wayne. On the rare occasions she had ever seen him without any trace of his darker persona he was so sweet, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>so gentle. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And Selina Kyle does not do sweet and gentle. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knew that was part of why they hadn’t gotten married. Neither of them could let go of the armour they had built up around themselves. The Bat and the Cat. Their defence against the pain and hardships life had thrown at them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The night of their wedding that almost was, she had wondered if they would always be like that. Running and chasing. Catching and releasing. Never being truly committed to one another. Free.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t seemed like such a bad life. She always loved playing cat and mouse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But then Alfred was dead and she was faced with the reality that her Bat might finally have lost the will to fly. That she might lose him for good this time. No more chasing because there was no one left to chase. No more running because there was no one to catch her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was scared to be tied down. She wanted to be free to go wherever she wanted and do what she pleased. Free, with little concern for anyone besides herself. But more than anything she wanted him to be there no matter where she went. No matter how their lives were upturned. She knew it was selfish, but she lived for their whirlwind moments between heists and cases. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> selfish. It was what </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted. And maybe Bruce seemed like the kind of man that would prefer a life with few attachments but she knew that wasn’t true. He was an all or nothing kind of guy. He either loved you completely or he kept you at arms length. Now he was under the mistaken impression that he could do both. But that’s because this man that she loved... was full of shit. And he hadn’t quite come to terms with that yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knew Bruce needed more from her than their on again off again bullshit. She had run from the altar because she was afraid to commit herself to a life of promises she didn’t know she could keep. But she was almost positive Bruce had run because he was afraid she would just carve out his heart and leave with it. And honestly, she didn’t blame him. She probably would have in the end.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But things were different now. And she had been forced to make a choice. She had to leave or she had to stay. She couldn't have it both ways anymore. Either she could let the man she loved slowly kill himself out of grief. Or she could be there for him, take on the responsibility of supporting him and loving him the way he needed, the way he deserved from her. And then except the fact that she may have to watch him die anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It had been the hardest decision she had even made. There was no going back. If she was going to do this it was all or nothing. There was no half-assing this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But she already knew what her decision was going to be. So she backed her bags, corralled her cats into their carriers, and drove over to Wayne Manor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But there was one thing that she had not taken into account: Damian.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She had moved into the Manor to be there for Bruce, but she had forgotten there was a whole ass kid living there. And suddenly she was faced with the reality that not only was she going to have to figure out this whole ‘supportive partner’ thing, but she was also going to have to try and make things work with her partner's </span>
  <em>
    <span>kids</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Because he had more than one. In fact, he had several. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was, to put it simply, fucked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian was a weird kid. Now to be fair, she didn’t really interact with a lot of kids. Or any kids, really. That was Bruce’s thing. But even she could see that being raised by assassins, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Thalia, </span>
  </em>
  <span>had severely messed him up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She remembered back when she had first been engaged to Bruce, how standoffish he had been. He was rude, stuck up his nose at her, called her a </span>
  <em>
    <span>harlot. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Which was not okay to call a woman, ever. Let alone one getting married to your father (unless she's a real bitch). He strut around like he owned the place, he demanded he get his way all the time. Quite honestly, he had been an absolute brat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had mellowed out considerably after Selina had made it clear that there would most likely never be a little one to challenge his place as the one true blood heir to the Batman. In fact he had mellowed out a lot. She’d even go as far to say he had liked her, just a little bit. She was going to give credit for that to their shared love of cats, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It seemed that all he needed to hear was that his claim to fame amongst his many adopted siblings was not going to be jeopardized and he was happy as a clam. Well, not happy. He was a Wayne so quite frankly she wasn’t really sure they knew what happiness was… But he was more content with the situation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Which was really fucked up the longer she thought about it. Knowing Thalia, as she so unfortunately did, Selina could be pretty sure that she had raised her son to value superior bloodlines and the importance of honouring legacy above all else. So this kid was weighing his value in his father's household based on being blood related to him. Which none of his other siblings were and is obviously not that important to Bruce overall. Yikes. No wonder the kid was so high strung. Talk about a hit to the ego.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But despite his… problematic upbringing, the kid had turned out pretty okay, as hard as she was concerned. His moral compass may be a bit skewed but it was obvious to her that he enjoyed helping people. He cared about animals with a ferocity she couldn’t help but admire. And he was pretty sweet, in his own way. He loved his father, he loved his siblings (although she had heard him vehemently deny this), and he had whole heartedly loved Alfred. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The kid was not okay. It was pretty obvious. He walked around the manor like a ghost. Robotically going through life from one task to the next. Wash, rinse, repeat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was nothing like the brat he had been months ago. And she weirdly missed that. To say she was concerned would be an understatement. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But what could she do? She was barely able to handle her own shit, let alone Bruce’s. And then add a grieving teenager on top of it all? She was out of her depth. She knew this wasn’t going to be easy but she felt like she was drowning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, he looks so </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>tired. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She finally looked away from Bruce and got out of bed. It was a testament to the man’s exhaustion when he didn’t even stir. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She made her way towards the walk-in closet adjacent to the bed and grabbed one of the housecoats hanging on the door. She then looked back to see what time the clock on her bedside table said. 6:30am, gross. Time to make breakfast for the teenager.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Giving Bruce and their comfortable bed one last longing glance, she walked out of the room and started making her way down the hall to the main stairs. Almost like her body had a mind of its one, she found herself slowing down her pace in front of Damian’s door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She contemplated knocking to see if he was awake. Maybe he’d like to join her downstairs… No, probably not. He’d come down when he was ready.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you guys like this one.</p><p>I was so excited to write from Selina's POV. She's more on my wavelength so she's pretty fun and easy to write. Also I love BatCat and I was really interested in diving into they're relationship as semi-dysfunctional adults. </p><p>I plan to post every week, roughly. But like... If I have chapters done earlier I'll just post them as I go. </p><p>We're in early days of this story but I do want to thank y'all for the support you have already shown! </p><p>Stay solid, my dudes. </p><p>~ReMos</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A Bat During the Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The beginnings of a long day.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The ceiling wasn’t all that interesting, but Bruce couldn’t bring himself to look away from it just yet. It was white, and… No, that was pretty much it. It was a boring white ceiling. Not a crack or stain to be seen. Alfred would never have allowed it. Just for that, Bruce felt tempted to mar it’s perfection. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He should get up. He knew he should get up. He had work, Damian had to get to school. Life wasn’t going to stop moving forward just because he wanted it too. No matter how desperately he may wish it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a long sigh, Bruce mustered up the energy to leaver himself upright out of bed and throw his legs over the side. He briefly closed his eyes and took another deep breath in preparation for the long day he knew he would be having. Though nowadays, every day felt like it would never end.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a quick shower, Bruce pulled on a pair of soft grey pants and a black t-shirt. Looking around the room, he saw that Selina’s pajamas were nowhere to be seen, she was still in the house then. Deciding that she was probably downstairs somewhere, Bruce slipped on a pair of socks to keep his feet warm and opened the door to make his way down the hall towards the main staircase. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The manor felt cold and lifeless. Like a tomb. Alfred had been the heart and soul of the household. Without him, it was almost as if Wayne Manor itself was in mourning. The paintings on the walls seemed dull, the figures and scenery depicted in them nothing more than some acrylic thrown on a canvas. The antique furniture appeared stiff and brittle, a light coating of dust obscuring what would normally have been beautiful, well polished wood. And the overhead lights felt dim, like they could only be convinced to shine enough light to see by, and no more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce walked slowly down the stairs, still taking in the manor's dreary interior. Was it strange to feel such strong kinship with a house? The manor looked as dismal and empty as Bruce felt on the inside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once in the foyer, Bruce took a minute to listen for where Selina might be. Hearing the sound of something falling to the floor, followed by a soft curse, he made his way towards the kitchen where the sound had originated from. The kitchen was a place he found her quite often these days. It was jaring. Seeing her there in front of the stove making eggs as opposed to Alfred. Bruce wasn’t sure if he would ever get used to it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He paused in the doorway for a moment to take in the sight of her. She was bending down to pick up the spatula she had dropped. Her hair a bit disheveled, his housecoat hanging loosely off one of her shoulders. With a frustrated sigh she stood back up and threw the dirty spatula in the sink, searching one of the drawers for a new one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There had been a time when Bruce would have given up a lot for a life like this with her. Waking up together, getting ready for the day. Sharing a morning coffee, eating breakfast. Just taking a moment to appreciate their time with one another. But that dream had never involved her becoming his caretaker. In fact he would never have even been able to picture her doing mundane household chores if he hadn’t been there to witness her doing them for the past few months.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They couldn’t keep going like this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>couldn’t keep going like this. Something had to change. Something had to give. But what? And how?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you just going to keep staring at me all morning or are you going to get over here and set the table?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce looked up to see Selina giving him a tired smile. Without makeup it was easy to see the bags under her eyes; she most definitely was not a morning person. But he would never get over how utterly beautiful she was just standing there in the sunlight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a low grunt, Bruce lumbered over to the cupboards where the plates and cups were located and started to get the table ready for breakfast. As was the least he could do for her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” said Selina. She pulled the skillet off the stove and scraped it’s contents onto one of the serving plates, her back facing him. “I’ve got scrambled eggs, some toast. Tofu bacon for Damian and real bacon for us. Nothing fancy but it’ll do the trick.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce gave Selina’s back a long look as he finished setting the table. Slowly he made his way over to her and wrapped his arms around her middle. His head came down to rest on her exposed shoulder and he took a moment to just breathe her in. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For a few moments they just stayed like that. Gently swaying back and forth. Selina then turned around in his arms and cupped his face with her hands, looking into his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay there, big guy?” She asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His shoulder slumped a bit as he looked back at her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” his voice was low and gravely from lack of use. “No, I’m not.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Selina’s brows rose slightly in surprise to his response. He couldn’t exactly blame her. Thus far Bruce had said very little on how he was coping. Or rather, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>coping. He was pretty sure this was the first time he had actually used words to acknowledge his feelings. His usual fair being grunts and long, distant stares. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t-” he began. Then stopped. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to say. He had always been a man of action as opposed to words. Words were hard to get right, so easy to misunderstand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever it is, I’m right here with you. Okay?” Selina leaned up and kissed his cheek gently. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes closed at the contact. At a loss for words he simply tightened his arms around her in an attempt to make her understand that he knew. He knew, and he would never stop being grateful to her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sound of someone quietly clearing their throat caught the pair's attention. Looking over towards the doorway, they saw Damian standing stiffly just outside of it. His eyes unreadable as he gazed at them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His son was already showered and dressed in his school uniform. His hair, which was getting a bit long, was expertly styled away from his face, giving Bruce a clear view of his wery green eyes as he watched them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce had always been vaguely envious of how Damian was able to look well put together no matter the time of day. A trait he had most certainly inherited from his mother. Or at the very least had not gotten from Bruce.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pulling away from each other, Selina resumed her breakfast preparations while Bruce made his way to the coffeemaker to start their morning brew. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, Damian. How did you sleep?” He asked, grabbing the coffee beans from the top shelf, giving his son a quick glance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Father, Kyle,” Damian greeted both with a curt nod. “I slept… adequately.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce frowned slightly at how rough Damian’s voice sounded. Bruce turned back round to face his son, who was taking his seat at the dining table. He seemed fine. Not a hair out of place, his shoulders squared and his back straight in his chair. All business as usual for Damian. Yet Bruce felt like something was off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian had thus far been handling Alfred’s death the best of all of them. Not to say that his son hadn’t cared for Alfred, he most certainly had. But being raised as an assassin gave Damian a different relationship with death. For the first ten years of his life it was a common occurrence. Alfred was sadly one of many on a long list of those his son had watched die. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With the coffee done percolating, Bruce distributed it into three mugs and poured a bit of milk into each. Then, one teaspoon of sugar for Selina, two for himself and as he was about to add three to Damian’s mug, knowing well his son’s not-so-secret sweet tooth, Damian called out to </span>
  <span>stop him. “I am not feeling very inclined towards sweets today, Father. If I could just have mine with milk?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now Bruce was truly concerned. Damian always took sugar in his coffee. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a short nod, Bruce brought the mugs over to the table and set them down. Selina doing the same with the serving plates. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once they were all seated, they began to eat. Even though they had been dining together for several weeks now, the air around the table never ceased to be awkward with the three of them. No one quite knowing how to interact with the other. Yet another thing that Alfred had always been good at managing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anything exciting happening at school, Damian?” Asked Selina, finally breaking the silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not that I care to know of,” Damian replied. His distaste for school and his peers was evident in his voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Selina winced slightly as her attempt to interact with Damian was subtly shut down. Bruce continued to sit without speaking. Not quite knowing how to facilitate the conversation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence descended upon the table once more. All of them at a loss for what to say. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After what seemed to be hours, but really could not have been more than twenty minutes, Damian downed the rest of his coffee in one go and stood up. He picked up his plate of food he had barely touched and scrapped what was left into the compost bin under the sink. He then opened the dishwasher and placed his dirtied dishes inside. Once done, he turned to face Selina.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for breakfast,” he said politely. He then looked at Bruce, “I’ll be in the drawing room when you are ready to depart, Father.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And with that, he made a swift exit, leaving both adults to stare after his hasty retreat.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” said Selina. “Not the worst breakfast we've ever had.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce simply grunted into his coffee in agreement. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not gonna lie folks, this is not my best work. After three days of writing and rewriting this chapter I decided to just go with it. Nothing in life is perfect, right?</p><p>Honestly though, if anyone has some constructive criticism, I'll take it! Life is about learning from your mistakes. :)</p><p>Don't worry about our angsty boi, Dami. His POV will be back next week!</p><p>Keep on keepin' on, my dudes!</p><p>~ReMos</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Flight of Robins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The continuation of a rough morning and a surprise cameo.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey, Y'all! </p><p>So, just a forewarning, not so much for this chapter but possibly for others: I am a homeschooled Canadian (That's right, bitches! homeschooled before it was cool!) so if at any point my depiction of Damian's high school life seems weird and unrealistic... that why.  </p><p>Besides that, we have a surprise cameo for this chapter! And by surprise, I mean I didn't even know they were gonna be in this fic until a wrote this. Surprise! Can you guess who it is?? </p><p>Enjoy my word vomit! ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The drive to school had been blissfully silent thus far, and Damian found himself thanking whatever deity may be responsible for his lack of torment. His father had been eyeing him all throughout breakfast. Damian could practically hear him psyching himself up for one of their ‘discussions’. Which usually consisted of Bruce lecturing him on something regarding his attitude and Damian having to grudgingly sit through it until his father either ran out of steam or lost interest. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, it seemed like Bruce had decided to remain quiet about whatever it was that was bothering him. Leaving Damian to watch the autumn wind whip leaves past the passenger side window as they steadily drove down the empty road, trees spanning endlessly on either side of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A storm was rolling in. Damian had caught the faint scent of rain in the air on his walk with Titus that morning. He hated Gotham storms. They were cold, loud and usually resulted in a miserable patrol. He always missed the desert the most when there was a storm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Damian let out a low breath and closed his eyes for a few moments. Despite having slept a solid six hours, he was exhausted. None of his dreams had ever left him feeling so unwell</span> <span>before. The nausea from earlier that morning had only dissipated in its intensity, not fully disappeared. His head pounded with a low thrum that was slowly increasing as the day progressed. And he felt cold. Bitterly cold. The kind of cold that makes your bones ache and you’re body tense. </span></p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had actually contemplated asking to remain home from school, not wanting to have to suffer the presence of his peers in such a state. But his father would have asked a million questions and probably banned him from patrol altogether, and Robin was one of the few things that was keeping Damian sane at this point. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What Damian thought was just a light rest turned out to be the whole twenty minute car ride to school. He woke to the feeling of his father gently shaking his arm. Startled, Damian looked over to see his father’s frown directed back at him in disapproval. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian cleared his throat and straightened his back, attempting to seem more composed than he felt. He had obviously underestimated how tired he was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He grabbed his book bag from the floor in front of him and reached for the handle of the car door to let himself out, only to pause when Bruce cleared his throat. He waited like that, facing the door, ready to push it open once his father had said whatever it was he needed to. Damian heard him clear his throat again, but refused to look back at him. He truly did not have the energy to deal with his father today. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Damian,” he said quietly. Hearing the hesitance in his father’s voice was almost enough to get him to turn around. Almost.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce cleared his throat a third time, then finally said, “behave today, please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian’s shoulders slumped just a fraction; he clenched his jaw. He wasn’t quite sure what he had been expecting. His father usually didn’t have much to say to him that wasn’t a comment on his behaviour. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He have his father a sneer of indignation. </span>
  <span>“Whatever,” he griped. Then got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He angrily stomped his way towards the front gates of the school, wondering if his day could get any worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>********</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Of course it could. He was in highschool now. And if he had thought that middle school was unbearable, it had nothing on highschool. A bunch of sweaty, hormonal teenagers all crammed together in one building could spell nothing but disaster. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian had been going to Gotham Academy since his brother Richard (who had been his guardian at the time) had decided he was ready for human interaction. In fact, he even encouraged it. Saying things like: “You need to make some friends, Damian!” and: “I think it will be a good experience for you, Damian!”  Eleven years old and having never socialized with another child his age in his life, Damian had hated every second of school since he had been forced to attend this hell hole. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian had begged, actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>begged </span>
  </em>
  <span>to remain homeschooled. The idea of being forced to mingle with people so obviously beneath him day in and day out, was enough to make him fantasize about gouging out his own eyeballs with a batarang. But no such luck. And his father, of course, had agreed with Richard. Or perhaps was just thankful that he wouldn’t have to deal with Damian skulking around the manor all day. Probably the latter. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So here he was, having been forced to exist amongst the simpering brats of Gotham’s elite. Disgusting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The brisk November wind whipped through the courtyard of the school, biting at student’s cheeks and noses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Gotham Academy catered to children grades one through twelve. From the smallest, snot nosed six year old to the most obnoxious, self righteous eighteen year old. There were three separate buildings; the elementary school building, the middle school building, and the highschool building. All were ostentatiously extravagant, the school taking every opportunity to scream ‘We have money!’ that was available. Not to say that Damian was complaining. He had been to Jonathan Kent’s public middle school all of once and vowed never to return. And that had been in Metropolis. Damian couldn’t even imagine how disgusting Gotham public schools must be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian made his way up the stairs and into the highschool with a sense dread. His headache already growing worse from all the chatting and gossiping of his peers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Wayne! So nice of you to join us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, look. There was Damian’s biggest headache of all, leaning against his locker with a cocky smirk on his pretentious face. His lackeys flanked either side of him, laughing and twittering amongst themselves as if their leader had come up with some clever insult. Imbeciles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian rolled his eyes, but did not stop in his march towards the conglomerate of fools. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Desmond,” Damian dralled, stopping to stand in front of his classmate. Or as Damian liked to call him: a waste of oxygen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian had met Julian Desmond for the first time at a Wayne charity gala a few months before starting at Gotham Academy. His father, Arthur Desmond, had wanted to get into Richard’s good graces while Bruce was ‘away’ and had decided to use introducing his son to Damian as an excuse to make conversation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian had taken one look at the lanky blonde brat, eyeing him from his father’s side and turned up his nose. He had no desire to be used as an avenue for this man to manipulate his brother. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Desmond, however, had been personally outraged by Damian’s indifference to him. And once they had been in school together, had made it his mission in life to be the most loathsome, obnoxious person Damian had ever met.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At least the idiot could take some pride in the fact that he succeeded most days. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Desmond leaned down, getting tight into Damain’s face. Their difference in height wasn’t extreme, Desmond was only taller by a few inches, but his advantage in stature only stood to further irk Damian.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Morning, Wayne,” He sneered. “What can I do for you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get out of my way, Desmond. I’m not dealing with your nonsense today,” Damian growled. The pain behind his eyes sermounting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Desmond chuckled darkly, “Oh, you’re not, huh?” He stepped further into Damian’s personal space, attempting to seem intimidating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One of the first rules that had been established when Damian started school was that he was not to harm the civilians. He was stronger and deadlier than anyone on campus, and it was his responsibility to rein in his more violent habits. Exposing his true skill set would put the family secret in jeopardy and that could not happen under any circumstances. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The drawback, or one of many, was that Desmond sadly counted as a civilian (just barely, in Damian’s opinion). And as such, could not be retaliated against. Damian could eviscerate his pride and masculinity with clever words and biting retorts all he wanted. But he was to appear as nothing more than the spoiled son of a rich playboy. Much to his ire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Desmond’s hands surged forward and grabbed hold of Damian’s shirt collar. Sharply wrenching him right up to his face. Their nose’s barely inches apart. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were saying?” The grin on Desmond’s face bordered on manic with glee.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Damian could get out his scathing response, they were interrupted by a low monotone voice. “Miss Penthace is coming this way, idiots. You might wanna stop with whatever it is you think you’re doing before she gives you all detention.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The two boys looked over to see Rachel Roth standing a few feet away, staring emotionlessly at the two of them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roth had a rather disturbing air about her. Her skin was ghostly pale, accentuated by her jet black hair cut in a severe bob. She wore the same uniform as all the other female students but somehow managed to make it look darker, more depressing. And her eyes were a rare violet colour that made her stand out all the more. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Desmond released Damian and turned his attention towards Roth. A painfully fake smile plastering itself across his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Goth Girl. We’re all friends here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roth simply raised a dark eyebrow at him. Silently calling him on his bullshit.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He let the faux cheer slid off his face and clenched his jaw. The threat of another detention seemingly enough to send him running with his tail tucked between him legs, he spat, “fucking whatever, freak,” then barked to his cronies, “let’s go!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Desmond shoved Damian aside and made his escape. His herd of mindless sheep trailing behind him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Moron,” Roth snorted. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian turned to his locker, which was now free of one pompous degenerate, and turned the combination lock in sequence to open it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I had him handled, Roth,” he said. He pulled his textbooks out of his book bag and put them into his locker, switching them out for the ones he would need for morning classes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She then turned to raise and eyebrow at </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, her skepticism obvious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I could see that,” she droned sarcastically. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He whorled around to glare at her, his temper flaring. “Go find someone else to inflict your hero complex on, Roth. And stay the fuck out of my business,” he snapped.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With his piece said, Damian slammed his locker shut and stormed off down the hall, leaving Roth staring blankly behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>********</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian’s headache finally came to a roaring crescendo during english class. To the point where he was sure that it had surpassed a mere headache and gone straight on to being a full blown migraine. With nausea right alongside as a close companion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could vaguely make out the sounds of his english teacher saying something about literature, but his mind was so clouded he wasn’t able to pick apart when he was saying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Images from last night's dream flashed through his mind in quick succession. The hallway. The disfigured paintings. The wooden doors. The darkness. The woman-.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wait... </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Woman? </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Wayne, are you feeling alright?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian looked up to see his english teacher looking at him, brows furrowed in concern. He was fairly certain his name was Caldwell, or something of the like.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Wayne, perhaps you should visit the nurse’s office. That nosebleed looks quite serious." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nosebleed?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Reaching a hand up to his nose, Damian did in fact feel the telltale wetness of blood. A lot of blood. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It felt as if Damian had only blinked, but he must have closed his eyes from longer because Caldwell was there in front of him, as opposed to behind his desk where he had just been moments ago. He held out a handful of tissues to Damian, who sluggishly took them from his grasp and held them to his nose to stem the flow of blood.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come now, lad. Let’s get you to Mrs. Song,” Caldwell said, kindly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Damian nodded faintly and reached towards the school supplies on his desk in order to tidy them up and put them back in his bag. He froze, looking down at his notebook. His class notes were cut off mid sentence, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>D</span>
  </em>
  <span>’s tail the end of </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> ending with a sharp stroke of his pencil, almost as if someone had grabbed his hand while he was writing. And there, taking up the rest of the page was the drawing of a robin mid flight. It’s wings stretched out on either side of itself, tail feathers fanned. It’s talons poised, looking ready to grab something.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a beautiful drawing. One of the best he had done. The details meticulous and lifelike. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only problem was, he didn’t remember drawing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello, again! Tis I! Back with more commentary at the end of the chapter!</p><p>Just a few things:</p><p>-Did y'all enjoy Damian being fed up with his dad's BS? Cause I did. Quite a lot. (Bruce do just be worried though. RIP, Batdad)</p><p>-Yes, I was referencing Bruce being stuck in time, just to clarify. </p><p>-For those of you who figured out the cameo, idk where it's going but it's not going to be romantic. Gonsta warn you now, so no one get's their hopes up.</p><p>-How was this for Damian's POV? I like to think that at 14 he has chilled the fuck out a bit. Gotten more "hip with the kids", as it were. That's what I was trying to portray in this chapter. Lemme know if he seems too OOC to y'all.</p><p>I think that's all for me, folks! </p><p>In the wise and empowering words of Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark: Stay sexy, and don't get murdered! Goodbye!</p><p>-ReMos</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope that was interesting for y'all. If you feel like it, lemme know what you think.</p><p> </p><p>~ReMos</p></blockquote></div></div>
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